A Shot in the Dark
by Al The Observer
Summary: This is the second in a set of stories that provides a little twist to the normal operations of Project Quantum Leap.
1. Prologue

As the bright blue light faded, Al started to hear gunfire. Automatic gunfire. It was all around him. He looked around, and saw he was on the edge of a tree line, next to a trail which was about ten feet wide. He realized he was holding an automatic rifle, and was on one knee in the undergrowth. He took a deep breath. The heat and humidity were stifling. The gunfire continued. Suddenly, he saw a lemon-sized object hurtling toward him. _Grenade!_ He spotted a depression in the ground on the other side of the trail. It looked big enough to fit into. Al jumped up, ran across the trail, and dove into the hole. He lay face down and heard the grenade explode, followed by the sound of shrapnel raining down on the vegetation around him. This was all too familiar- the heat, the humidity, the sounds of war. He rolled over onto his back and looked up. The trees were thick and dark green, but he couldn't see any detail through the haze hanging in the air. _I'm back in Vietnam!_ The realization hit him like a punch to the face. He sat up, slowly looked over the edge of the hole, and paled at what he saw. He was looking down the muzzle of an automatic rifle. The kid at the other end couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen. Al read the name tapes on the kid's jacket: _Collins, U.S. Army_

Collins yelled over his shoulder, "Jones, I got a live one!" He turned back to Al. "Heh, heh, heh. I've got you now, Charlie."

_Charlie?_ Al was stunned. "Oh, ca-ca."


	2. Captured

The man Al presumed was Jones ran to Collins. When he saw Al, he smiled. "Charlie!"

Collins raised the end of his gun a bit and yelled, "Up!"

From where Al was kneeling, he couldn't reach his rifle, which lay in the hole, but he could reach his sidearm. Even so, he knew he couldn't bring himself to kill these American kids. He figured they'd probably shoot him if he did try, anyway.

"Get 'em up!" Collins yelled.

Al raised his hands up, and Collins and Jones each grabbed an arm, pulling him out of the hole. "Turn around!" Collins ordered. Al complied, turning his back to Collins, his hands still in the air. Jones retrieved Al's rifle, and then removed Al's sidearm from its holster. "Hands behind your head," was Collins' next order, punctuated by a jab in Al's back with his gun. Al put his hands on the back of his head and interlaced his fingers. This was a nightmare he never wanted to relive, yet for some reason, he was back in the jungle being captured once again. "Move!" came the next command, followed by another jab in the back. Al started marching up the trail, followed by Collins and Jones.

"Hey, man, you're getting pretty good at this," Jones said to Collins.

"Yeah, I ought to be, I've done it enough times," Collins laughed. The two men chatted as they marched Al up the steep trail. There was something different about them that, through the thick haze and the intense fear that was gripping Al, he just couldn't put his finger on.

They came to a small clearing at the top of the trail, where there was a third soldier waiting. He appeared to be somewhat older than the other two. He smiled at Al and stretched his arms out in a welcoming gesture. "Charlie! Welcome to my camp! I'm sure you'll find the accommodations," he gestured around the clearing, "sparse." The three men shared a laugh.

"On your knees!" Collins shoved Al hard with the gun. Al fell to his knees, sweat pouring off of him. He realized that the heat and humidity were only partly to blame.

"Here's his rifle and his sidearm," Jones said as he handed the guns to the third soldier.

"Good work, men! I'll make sure the Lieutenant is informed as to who brought us our prisoner!"

"Thank you, Sarge," said Collins. He and Jones turned and marched back down the trail.

"Charlie," said the sergeant as he handcuffed Al behind his back. "I didn't expect to see _you_ here today."

_Handcuffs? Damn, I know my memory's Swiss-cheesed from the Leap, but I don't remember having handcuffs in Vietnam._

"Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. What _am_ I going to do with you?" the sergeant asked as he walked circles around Al.

Al looked up at him. "You could just shoot me and get this over with," he suggested. He didn't really want to die, but he knew he had no chance to escape. The American had his guns, and he was in handcuffs, so if he tried to run, he wouldn't get very far. At this point, his feeling was that just about anything was better than being a P.O.W. again. He felt sure that if he died now and didn't make it to Heaven, even Hell itself couldn't be worse than enduring that experience again.

The sergeant ignored Al and continued rambling and walking around him.

_Is he ignoring me, or can he not understand me? Am I speaking English or Vietnamese?_

"Look, just kill me, already!" Al yelled. He felt a pistol press into the back of his head.

"Is this what you want, Charlie?" the sergeant asked.

Al heard the distinct click of the gun's safety being released. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the shot.


	3. Warnings from Ziggy

Gooshie was sitting in his office, deeply involved in a game of Free Cell on his computer. He was proud of his record of 86.3 percent wins, and he was trying to increase his percentage. He never let a loss get to him, though. This was his time, and Free Cell was his favorite way to unwind. He had enjoyed a lot of Free Cell the past several days, as Dr. Beckett was recovering well in the infirmary, and Admiral Calavicci had been between Leaps for almost a week. Gooshie reached across his desk to take a sip of his hot green tea.

Suddenly, alarms started blaring over the intercoms throughout the complex. Gooshie jumped up, knocking over the tea, and called to Ziggy, "What's happening?"

"Dr. Gushman, I am detecting that Admiral Calavicci has Leaped, and according to his vital signs, he is in great distress." Ziggy's voice followed Gooshie as he ran through the complex toward the Control Room. "His heart rate, blood pressure, and respiration are all at dangerously high levels."

"What information do you have on the Admiral's location and time?" Gooshie asked as he impatiently waited for the elevator to reach his floor.

"I cannot obtain any information on his location until you lock on to his neurons and mesons in the Imaging Chamber. However, I can tell you that he has Leaped into a young man who is apparently in trouble. I'm detecting signs that Admiral Calavicci's life may be in danger."

Exasperated, Gooshie gave up on waiting for the elevator to arrive. He ran down the hall to the stairs, and took the flights down as fast as he could.

"Dr. Gushman, you are not in good enough physical shape to be exerting your body like that," Ziggy warned.

Gooshie made a mental note to kick the console when he had time. Sometimes, Ziggy really could get too much into people's business. He finally reached the Control Room, where a technician already had a handlink ready for him. He dashed up the ramp into the Imaging Chamber and hit the button on the wall. The door opened, and Gooshie ducked inside, hitting the button to close the door behind him.


	4. The Mission

Al knelt in the dirt, waiting for the soldier to shoot him. The wait seemed like an eternity, but it was really no more than a few seconds. He could have sworn he felt a tear fall, but it was probably sweat. Even under these conditions, he'd never cry. He refused to give them the satisfaction.

_What's taking so long? Why doesn't he just go ahead and shoot?_

Suddenly, Al heard a soldier running up the trail. "Game! That's the game!"

The sergeant jumped into the air. "Yes! We won!" He holstered his pistol, then bent down and removed the handcuffs from Al's wrists. "Thanks to you, Charlie." He patted Al on the shoulder as he put the handcuffs in his pocket. "All we had to do to win the game was to take in a live P.O.W., and report it back to base."

Al collapsed on the ground, shaking and trying to catch his breath. _Game? This was a war game?_

"Charlie? Man, you okay?" The sergeant asked as he removed his safety goggles, revealing rings in his camouflage face paint.

Al looked up at him. That's what was different. He couldn't see it through the haze, but they were all wearing goggles. He reached up, pulled his own goggles off, and the haze cleared. He looked down at his foggy eyewear.

"Charlie, you alright?" The man asked again as he squatted down next to Al, concern on his face.

As Al came to the realization that he was now safe, his breathing and heartbeat started to slow back to something that resembled normal. With the same voice he had used so many times to keep Sam calm, even when he was feeling scared himself, he answered, "Uh, I guess I am. Now."

The soldier that had run up the trail said to Al, "Man, you shoulda seen the look on your face! You really looked scared for your life."

The older man rose to his feet. "See, Chris, that's what I like about playing Airsoft with Charlie! He keeps it real, man!" He reached down to Al to help him stand up. "Next game, you're on my team!"

Al stood up, with the man's help. "Uh, okay. Sure."

The sergeant continued to look worriedly at Al. "You don't look so good. We'd better get you back down to the shed and get you some water. Here, let me help you get this jacket off."

Al unbuttoned his BDU jacket, and the other man helped him slide it off. The rush of fresh air was such a relief. Under the jacket was a sweat-soaked olive green t-shirt with the word "NAVY" on the front.

"Thanks, Sarge," said Al.

"Charlie, the game's over. You can call me Mike again," he smiled, concern still showing on his face. "Hey, Chris! Can you carry Charlie's guns back to the shed?"

"Sure!" Chris picked up Al's rifle and sidearm and headed back down the trail.

Mike looked back at Al. "You sure you're okay?"

Just then, a ghostly image of Gooshie popped in next to Mike. "Admiral! Are you all right?"

"Oh, sure. I just need to get some water and cool off, that's all," Al answered them both.

"Okay. Come on," Mike said as he started down the trail.

"You go on ahead, I'll catch up. I need to, ah, you know." Al nodded in the direction of the woods.

"Oh, yeah," Mike answered. "I'll see you back at the shed," he called over his shoulder as he went down the trail.

Al waited until Mike was out of earshot. "Gooshie, where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what just happened? I thought I was about to die!"

"So did we. Your vital signs went off the charts, and Ziggy was spitting out all kinds of alarms. I was in another part of the complex, and I got down here as fast as I could." Gooshie narrowed his eyes. "What happened, Admiral?"

Al shuddered. "I just," he looked down and shook his head slightly. "Relived some really bad memories, that's all." He sighed and looked back at Gooshie. "I'm okay, now. I just need to take it easy."

"That's good, because we've already had a scare with Dr. Beckett. Ziggy almost blew her circuits when she thought he would die. We don't need two of you down for the count."

"Sam!" _God, how could I forget about Sam?_ "How is he, Gooshie?"

"He's doing much better, Admiral. In fact, you may have another observer soon."

"That's great! Keep me up to date if anything changes."

"I will, Admiral." Gooshie raised the handlink to read it, and tapped some buttons on it. "It's August 20, 2005, and you've Leaped into twenty-two year old Charlie Morgan. You're on an Airsoft field in Sherwood, Tennessee, just west of Chattanooga."

"Yeah, Mike said something about Airsoft. What is that?" Al wiped his face with his shirt. It didn't do much good, since his shirt was still soaked, but it got the sweat out of his eyes.

Gooshie consulted the handlink. "Ziggy says it's a sport involving realistic replica firearms. It started in Japan in the 1980s. An Airsoft gun is a one-to-one scale replica that shoots six-millimeter plastic pellets instead of real bullets. The players usually use military uniforms, equipment, and tactics in their games."

"That's why it all seemed so real," Al muttered. He bent down, picked up his jacket, and slung it over his shoulder. "Why am I here, Gooshie?" he asked, as he started down the trail in the direction the others went.

Gooshie walked next to Al as he read from the handlink. "Ziggy says there's an 89.6 percent chance you're here to stop an attempted hom." He frowned and hit the handlink, albeit not as hard as Al usually did. "Icide. Attempted homicide."

Al stopped in his tracks. "An attempted homicide? Who?"

"Seventeen-year-old Jonathan Collins. Sometime today, he gets shot with a real bullet- a nine millimeter hollow point, to be exact. He survives, but the bullet does enough damage to paralyze him. Admiral, he never walks again."

"Well do we know who shoots him, or why?"

"Ziggy says it could be any of these guys. They all seem to like to shoot guns and play war games." Gooshie started fidgeting, knowing what the next question would be.

"But why..." Al trailed off. He looked back at Gooshie and asked, "Well, when does it happen?"

_There's no dodging this question,_ Gooshie thought. "Uh, we don't know." He immediately looked down at the handlink to avoid seeing the irritated look he knew he was getting from the Admiral.

"What do you mean, 'We don't know'?" Al emphasized the last three words almost mockingly. He was beginning to appreciate how Sam felt all those times that bucket of bolts Ziggy wouldn't cough up the information he needed.

"Ziggy can't find a report in any of the county's computers." The Admiral was going from irritated to angry, and Gooshie could feel it, even though to him, the Admiral and his surroundings were just a hologram.

"Well, why not? Somebody got shot! You know a report had to have been filed!" Again using his shirt, he wiped the sweat off his face.

"The only thing I can figure," answered Gooshie, "is that Jonathan is seventeen. He's a juvenile, and police reports involving juveniles are sealed. We have no information other than the fact that sometime today, he gets shot, and he is paralyzed as a result of the injury."

"So somebody out here's got a real gun, but we don't know who, and we don't know when they're gonna use it," Al said more as a statement than a question.

"That's correct, Admiral."

"Damn, it's hot out here," Al complained, fanning himself with his jacket.

"Admiral, you need to get yourself out of the sun. You don't look so good," Gooshie said with concern.

"I'm fine! It's just hot out here, okay?" Al snapped.

Gooshie instinctively held up his hands in a defensive gesture as he took a step back. "I'm going to go ask Ziggy to run through the local papers, and see if I can find any more details on this." He pushed a button on the handlink, causing the Imaging Chamber door to open. "Admiral, you take care of yourself," Gooshie said.

Al held up a hand and waved him off.

Gooshie stepped into the rectangle of light, pushed another button, and the door closed, leaving Al to walk down the trail alone.


	5. Unbearable Heat

About two minutes later, Al arrived at the base camp, where the shed was located. There were about two dozen men in camouflage, some carrying their weapons, sitting or standing around in the shade of the trees.

"Charlie!" Mike called to Al. "We were about to come looking for you!" He stood up and walked over to the water cooler, which was on a stand against the side of the metal shed. He pulled a paper cup out of the dispenser that was attached to the cooler, filled it with water, and handed it to Al.

Al took the cup and drank the contents in one gulp. "Thanks, Mike," he said, fanning himself again with the jacket. "How hot do you think it is today?"

"Check out the temperature," Mike said as he pointed to a large thermometer that was attached to the side of the shed.

Al squinted to read the markers beside the mercury tube. "Ninety-seven degrees. It feels hotter."

"It's the humidity. Hey, why are you squinting? You've never had trouble seeing anything before."

"Uh, I just couldn't read the little numbers." Al refilled his cup from the cooler, and again downed the water in one gulp.

"Charlie, come sit down over here. You're starting to scare me, man." Mike led Al to the base of a tree, and helped him sit.

"I'm okay. I'm just a little dizzy, that's all." Al attempted to wave off Mike's concern with a weak smile.

"Hey, Greg, come get Charlie some more water," Mike said to Jones, as he held out Al's cup.

Greg took the cup, refilled it and brought it back to Al. "Here, drink this slowly." He then motioned for Mike to step away from Al. When they were out of earshot he said, "Mike, he's pale and his skin is clammy. He's dehydrated and he's probably going into heat exhaustion. We gotta cool him off." They walked back to Al, to see that he had finished off his cup of water. "Hey, Charlie how ya feelin'?" Greg asked, as he squatted down next to Al.

"Not so good," Al mumbled. "My head's spinning and it's making me sick."

"Here, can you take off your shirt?" Greg took Al's cup from him and set it aside. He then helped Al remove his wet shirt.

Al leaned back against the tree. His vision was getting worse, as everything started to turn gray. He heard a voice echoing in the distance. "Charlie?" He heard the voice call to him one more time, before everything turned black.


	6. Update to Sam

Gooshie walked down the ramp from the Imaging Chamber and into the Control Room. These Leaps were getting to be very stressful to him. He didn't know how the Admiral could do it. Seeing Dr. Beckett in all those situations and not being able to do anything about it except to provide data or lend moral support must have been physically and emotionally exhausting.

"I sense you're upset, Dr. Gushman." The soothing tone of the computer surprised him.

"I'm okay, Ziggy. I'll just be glad when I can give up the position of Observer and get back to tending to you."

"As will I. Dr. Jackson has requested your presence in the infirmary. It seems that Dr. Beckett is recuperating well and will probably be cleared to observe soon."

Gooshie snapped the handlink into the charging port in the top of the console. "Thank you, Ziggy. I'll head that way now." He walked out of the Control Room and down the corridor to the elevator. He acknowledged the guard with a nod, and pushed the call button. When the car arrived, he stepped in and pushed the button for the third floor. Sometimes, he wished Dr. Beckett had programmed some elevator music to play. Then he realized he could program Ziggy himself to play it, but he figured it would just annoy the other workers at the project. The elevator chimed as the car reached the third floor. Gooshie stepped out of the car, turned right, and walked down the hall toward the infirmary. He arrived at Sam's room to find Sam still in bed, but sitting up. With him was Dr. Jackson.

"Gooshie! It's good to see you," said Sam.

Gooshie saw the stitches on Sam's head, and tried to hide a wince. "Dr. Beckett, I hear you should be cleared to observe soon."

"Yeah, well not soon enough. Jackson here says I have to wait for some test results to get back. How's Al holding up?"

"Admiral Calavicci is doing well, considering the stress that this Leap is putting on him."

Sam sat further up in the bed. "What stress?"

Gooshie considered telling Sam about the readings Ziggy had been getting on Al's vitals, but thought better of it. Instead, he said, "Oh, it's just that this Leap has been physically demanding on him, that's all."

"Gooshie," Sam started.

"He's Leaped into Tennessee in the middle of August, and it's very hot and humid there. But I think he'll be fine," Gooshie smiled.

This didn't seem to satisfy Sam. "I'm going to go see him," he said matter-of-factly, throwing back the covers.

"You'll stay right here," Dr. Jackson spoke up. "I haven't cleared you to observe yet."

"Dr. Beckett, really, he's fine. I just left him, and other than the weather being hot where he is, he's okay."

Realizing he was outnumbered, Sam reluctantly gave in, for the time being. "What's he in Tennessee for?"

"He's there to stop a seventeen-year-old from being shot and paralyzed."

"Do you think he can do it? Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Well, I'm about to have Ziggy run through some records to see if we can get some more information on what happened."

"You mean you don't know?" Sam looked worried.

"Uh, we don't have all the details, Dr. Beckett, but we're working on it. For right now, you just rest and continue to recover, and I'll take care of Admiral Calavicci."

Sam sighed, feeling totally defeated. "Keep me up to date on him, Gooshie."

"I will, Dr. Beckett," Gooshie promised. He then nodded to Dr. Jackson and left the room, heading back to the Control Room.


	7. Medics Arrive

Al slowly regained consciousness to see several men standing around him, some pouring water over him, and some fanning him with large pieces of cardboard.

"Hey, he's awake! Everybody step back and give him some room!" Greg said to the men, who complied. He then turned to Al. "Charlie, just stay where you are and rest. We have an ambulance on the way out here to pick you up and take you to the hospital."

Al sat up with a start. "No! No doctors, no medics! Just leave me alone. I'll be fine!"

"Dude, you really need to go get checked out, at least," said Jonathan.

"No, really, I'm fine. I'm cooled off now, and I'm feeling better. I just need some water." He started to get up to go to the water cooler, but Mike handed him a cup of water before he had the chance. As he drank the water, he could hear a siren approaching. He slowly shook his head as the siren grew louder, then stopped as the ambulance arrived.

Within a few seconds, the paramedics were running toward Al, pushing a gurney. "I told you, no medics," he protested.

"Sorry, man," said Mike. "We already called them. You gotta go with them."

As if a lightbulb lit in his head, Al remembered something from his last Leap. "I have the right of refusal, don't I?"

One of the medics answered, "Yes sir, you do. As long as you are able to speak for yourself, and are of legal age, you have the right to refuse any and all treatment, although we advise against it."

"Well, I'm se... twenty-two years old, and I refuse treatment. _All_ treatment." He glared at the medics who were hovering over him. He knew they were only doing their job, but he still didn't like doctors or paramedics.

"Yes sir. Just sign this release, please." The medic handed Al a release form and a pen.

"Maybe you should just go with them," Jonathan suggested. "You know, if you sign that, and then you die later today, nobody can do anything about it. Your family won't be able to sue."

Al smiled at him and said, "I'll take my chances." He then signed the form, having to stop for a moment to remember his host's name, and handed it back to the medic.

"Thank you sir, and try to take it easy the rest of the day," the medic said. He then motioned to the group of men. "That goes for all of you. We don't want to have to come back out here." With a smile, he and his partner left, taking all their supplies with them.

"Is everybody rested and ready for the next game?" Mike called out. There was an affirmative murmur from the group.

"I am, too," Al stated firmly.

Mike turned back to Al. "You're not going anywhere. You're going to stay here and stay cool and rehydrate. Later this evening, when it's not quite so hot, you can come play another game. That is, if you don't overdo it."

Al knew he had to stay close to Jonathan all day, since he had no idea when the shooting occurred. He slowly stood to face Mike. "Look. Between all the water I've had, and all the water you guys have poured over me, I'm cool and rehydrated. Besides, with your little water pouring deal there, my pants are completely soaked, all the way down to my underwear." He raised an eyebrow and continued. "Do you have _any_ idea how uncomfortable wet underwear is? It's payback time," he smirked.

"Yep, Charlie's back to his old self," Greg quickly proclaimed. "Let's load up and get ready for the next scenario!"


	8. Into the Woods

All the Airsoft Players gathered up their equipment and went to their cars to reload. Al leaned against the tree and watched as some men replaced batteries in their guns, some replaced gas canisters, and several were pouring small white pellets into gun magazines. He watched carefully to make sure that tiny pellets were all that were going into the guns. After a few minutes of this, he walked to the water cooler, stopping to pick up a stray pellet along the way. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, contemplating the ramification of thousands of pellets scattered on the ground for acres. He looked up and grabbed the first person he saw. "Hey, what are these made of?"

The man shrugged, "I don't know. Some kind of plastic, I guess. Why?"

"Plastic? Thousands of plastic pellets all over the place in these beautiful woods?"

"Yeah. What gives?"

"Plastic doesn't biodegrade. These things are going to be here _forever_," Al emphasized the last word for effect.

"Dude, whatever," the man turned around and walked away.

"I can't believe you don't care," Al called to him.

"Care about what?" asked Mike.

Al turned around. "About the fact that thousands of non-biodegradable plastic pellets are all over the ground out here," he answered, holding the pellet up for Mike to see.

"Charlie, don't you remember? When you first started playing out here with us a couple of years ago, you insisted that we switch to biodegradable pellets. That's the only kind we have for sale out here now. The pellets we use degrade in a year or so. Now, we don't have control over what people bring from home, but I think most players are following your lead."

Al smiled broadly and flicked the pellet away. "Well, I'm glad to see the support is still out there."

Mike smiled back at Al. "Hey, it was a great idea. Leave it to you to come up with that one."

Al thought for a moment. "Mike, can I take a look at the rules for the field?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Uh, no reason. Just wanted to see something, that's all."

Mike pointed Al to the registration tent, and then left to gather more equipment for the next game.

Al scanned the rule sheet, smiling as he saw the suggestion to use biodegradable pellets, until he came to the rule he was looking for: "Absolutely no 'real steel' guns are allowed on this field, ever." Al was relieved, but that didn't necessarily clear all the players of suspicion in his mind. Someone brought a real gun to the field, and he was determined to find out who it was, and why they would shoot Jonathan, but more importantly, when.

From near the shed, Mike called out, "All right! Gather around, everybody!" When all the players were within earshot, he started explaining the next game to them. "This game, Team A will be the mercenaries. Your job is to protect this weapons cache." He held up a well-used military duffel bag. "Team B will be the feds. Your job is to secure the weapons cache, and bring it back to base." There was a murmur of approval from the group. "Here's the twist: There are about half a dozen guys already in the woods, and their job is to thwart both Team A and Team B. They are going to do their best to take the weapons cache for themselves, while shooting as many of all of you as they can."

Jonathan spoke up, "How will we know who they are? I mean, how will we know whose team they are on?"

"You won't," Mike answered. "So when we break up into teams in a minute, take a good long look at who's on your team, and try not to shoot any of them. Any more questions?"

A voice called from the group of men, "What about respawns? How long do we have to wait until we're back in the game?"

"Ah, good question! Thanks! If you get hit, call 'hit' and go to your respawn point and touch base. Team A, yours is on top of the hill. Team B, yours is on the dam. We're playing instant respawn in this game. In other words, when you get hit, go to respawn, touch base, and you're back in the game. You're only 'dead' for however long it takes you to get to respawn and back. So I suggest you run." This drew several chuckles from the crowd. "Okay, any more questions?" No one spoke up. "Good! Let's break up into teams." He looked at Al. "Charlie, you're on my team for this one."

"Only as long as Jonathan is on our team," Al answered.

"Yes! I get to be on the same team as Mike and Charlie! We can't lose!" Jonathan exclaimed excitedly.

After a few moments, Mike called out, "Okay, it looks like the teams are ready. Team A, take the weapons cache into the woods, and we will be after you in five minutes."

Greg took the duffle bag from Mike, and led his team into the woods.

After they were out of sight, Jonathan turned to Al. "Why did you want me on your team, anyway?"

Al smiled at him. "Are you kidding? You're a great player, from what I've seen. You handle yourself very well on the field, and I wanted that kind of talent on our team."

"Naw, man. You're the talented one. You really made it real in the last game. When we captured you, I thought you were gonna cry there for a second. You're almost as good at it as Mike is. And for me to be on the same team as both of you, we definitely will win this game!"

"You got that right! We're gonna have a good time, win the game, and go home later tonight feeling really good about coming out to play today," Al answered, trying to convince himself as much as he was telling the kid.

Mike turned to Al. "Charlie? Are you sure you're up to playing another game?"

"I sure am," Al answered as he put his shirt and jacket back on. "Let's go!"

With that, they headed into the woods, guns at the ready.


	9. Greater Love

Sam lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, while solving differential equations in his head. He was _bored_. Jackson had said he was going to run a few more tests, but that had to have been hours ago. There was no clock in the room, a fact that annoyed Sam. He really just wanted to pull the monitor wires off his skin and leave, but the doctor in him knew better. He knew he had to wait for Jackson's final approval. Sam heard the sound of footsteps approaching in the hall, and as they grew louder, he turned his head to see whose they were. Verbeena Beeks entered the room, smiling.

"Hi, Sam! How are you feeling now?" She sounded almost too chipper.

"I'm bored. When are the test results coming back? It feels like I've been lying here for hours."

"It's only been about an hour since we left you, Sam. Dr. Jackson is on his way back from the lab right now with your results. It seems you've healed very nicely." Dr. Beeks turned to greet Dr. Jackson, who had just walked in the room. "Dr. Jackson," she nodded.

"Dr. Beeks," Jackson replied. He then turned to Sam. "Sam, it looks like you are good to go, as long as you take it easy. You're not as young as you once were, so your body can't take hits like that as well. Still, you're doing very well considering what happened."

"Dr. Jackson," Sam started. "What _did_ happen?" The question had been playing in his mind since he first regained consciousness.

"The Leap probably erased it from your memory," Dr. Jackson answered, "but you were hit by a car, after being dragged from another car for a distance."

"And Al Leaped into me to bring me back here for treatment," Sam continued, more as a statement of realization than a question. "That's why he's the Leaper now. Now it makes sense. I knew he was Leaping, and I knew I was here, but I didn't know how or why that exchange took place."

"Now you know why," Dr. Beeks said. "Al saved your life, Sam. You would not have survived with the medical care that was available 30 years ago. Al knew that, so he Leaped into you to bring you back here."

Sam stared into space. "Greater love hath no man..." he muttered to no one in particular. He brought his gaze back to Dr. Jackson. "Can I go now? I want to see how Al is doing."

"Yes," Dr. Jackson answered. "You may go now, but Ziggy will be helping monitor your progress, and Dr. Beeks will be reporting to me daily. If we see you are putting your body under too much stress, we'll call you back for more rest."

"It's a deal." Sam slowly stood as Dr. Beeks removed the monitor wires from him. Once he was completely disconnected, he started for the door.

"Sam," Dr. Beeks called to him.

Sam turned around in the doorway. "Yes?"

"Here." She handed Sam a duffel bag containing extra clothing. "I want you to put some more clothes on. It's chilly in Control."

"How did you know that's where I was going?" Sam asked.

"Because I know you," Verbeena smiled.

Sam smiled and took the bag. "Thanks."

After a quick change of clothes, Sam walked into the Control Room. Beeks was right. It was rather chilly in there; he was glad she warned him. But it felt good to be out of the infirmary and back to where he belonged.

"Dr. Beckett!" Gooshie exclaimed. "Welcome back! It's good to see you."

"Thank you, Gooshie," Sam smiled. "It's good to be back. Now, what's going on with Al?"

Gooshie briefly apprised Sam of the situation as he input some data into the handlink. Sam then picked up the handlink and walked up the ramp to the Imaging Chamber. He took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside.


	10. More than Just a Game

Al and Jonathan hiked along the trail in the woods, about half a mile from the base camp. The game had been going for about an hour, and they had "killed" about half a dozen members of the other team, without receiving any hits themselves. Even though they had done well in the game, Al was growing more and more concerned about Jonathan's safety as the day wore on.

"It'll be dark soon, Charlie," Jonathan said. "Do you think they'll call the game, or do we keep playing in the dark?"

"I don't think that was addressed at the beginning of the game. If we see Mike, maybe we should ask him," Al suggested.

Just then, they heard the sound of footsteps in the leaves to their left. BBs whizzed through the underbrush toward them. Before he could react, Al felt the sting of a BB hitting its target on his left thigh.

"Ow! Hit!" He pulled out his red bandana and waved it around to signify that he was "dead."

Jonathan aimed his rifle in the direction of the shooter and started firing.

"Hit," came the call from the woods. Greg stepped out onto the trail and smiled at Jonathan. "Good shot, man! Now I gotta go all the way back up the hill to respawn." He patted Jonathan on the shoulder and turned and started up the trail.

Jonathan turned to Al, "I guess you gotta go respawn, too. I'll stay here and cover our position."

Al raised an eyebrow to Jonathan, "How did you manage not to get hit, yourself?" He was hoping that Jonathan would go to respawn with him.

"I guess you caught that bullet for me," Jonathan smiled.

"Yeah, well, you stay outta sight. I'll be right back." Al added, "Oh, if you see someone coming, don't shoot. You'll either give away your position, or you'll shoot me."

"Sure thing, Charlie," Jonathan said.

Al ran down the trail to the beaver dam, where the respawn point was marked. Once there, he stopped to catch his breath. "I'm getting too old for this," he muttered. He took his canteen out of its pouch and started to down a couple of gulps of water, when the Imaging Chamber door opened and Sam emerged. "Sam," Al choked on the water. After clearing his throat, he continued, "Boy, am I glad to see you, buddy! How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay now." Sam smiled. "Thank you, Al."

"Ah, forget it," Al responded, waving his hand dismissively. He smiled a half-smile and shook his head slightly.

Sam knew that look. It was the look of a friendship so strong even death couldn't fracture it. He blinked tears out of his eyes and continued, "Gooshie brought me up to date on what's going on." He then looked around and said, "Uh, where's Jonathan?"

"I don't know. I left him up the trail a few hundred yards, and I was about to go back up there," Al answered as he put his canteen back in its pouch. "Sam, have Gooshie center you on Jonathan so you can keep an eye on him."

"I don't know what I'll be able to do, but I'll go anyway," Sam replied.

"Okay, I'll be up there in a minute," Al promised.

Sam punched a couple of buttons on the handlink, and disappeared.

Al took a deep breath and started running back toward the trail. He arrived at the place where he left Jonathan moments ago, but Jonathan was nowhere to be seen. "Jonathan? Jon, it's me, Charlie!"

There was no answer.

"Ah, dammit. Where'd he go?" Al started following the trail uphill, hoping to find Jonathan before the mystery shooter found him first.

Al had gone about fifty feet along the trail, when Sam appeared. "Al, what's taking you so long?"

"I can't find Jonathan," Al answered.

"He's right ahead on the trail, just around that bend," Sam said, pointing up the trail. "He can't answer you because there's another player in the woods about thirty feet from him. The other guy hasn't seen him so far."

"Why don't you center in on him, so I can follow your voice," Al suggested.

Sam disappeared and then reappeared further up the trail. "Al, he's over here!"

Al couldn't see Sam, but he followed his voice up the trail.

"Just a few more feet, Al. Oh, there you are," Sam said, as Al arrived.

Al saw Jonathan lying in the underbrush, rifle aimed slightly downhill. He looked in that direction and saw another player crouched down in some tangled vines between two trees.

"I can't get a clear shot," Jonathan whispered. "I can't see him very well."

"But I can," Al whispered back. He aimed his rifle fired a few shots at the other player.

"Ah, hit," the other player called. He emerged from the woods with his red bandana waving, and then started down the hill.

Jonathan stood and stepped back out onto the trail. "We really make a great team, Charlie!"

"Yeah, we do," Al answered. Suddenly, he spotted a shadowy figure through the trees up the trail. "Get down!"

They ducked into the underbrush on the side of the trail, and quietly watched as the man approached.

"Do you think he saw us?" Jonathan whispered.

Al shrugged his shoulders and watched as the man stopped about ten feet from where they were hiding. Something about the man didn't seem quite right to Al. The man's uniform and SWAT equipment seemed too real. _Could this be the shooter?_

Jonathan raised his rifle to shoot the other man, but Al batted it down and covered Jonathan's face with his arms.

"You, in the bushes," the man called, aiming his rifle in their direction. "Come out with your hands where I can see them!"

Al pushed down on Jonathan to signal him to stay put, as he stood up. "I'm coming out. Don't shoot." He emerged from the trees, holding his rifle at arm's length above his head.

"Lose the gun!" The man ordered, holding Al at gunpoint. "Easy now."

Al held the rifle by its sling, away from his body, and then dropped it. He made sure to keep his hands away from his pistol belt, lest he provoke the man.

"Al," Sam started.

"Now, turn around and lie face down on the ground, with your hands behind your head," the man ordered.

"Al, what's going on here?" Sam asked with growing concern. "Is this guy one of the players or is he the man that shoots Jonathan?" He started feverishly pushing buttons on the handlink, trying to come up with an answer, but to no avail.

Al simply acknowledged Sam's concern with a glance in his direction.

"I said, get on the ground," the man barked, taking a step closer to Al.

Al reluctantly complied, lying flat in the middle of the trail with his hands behind his head. _At least he hasn't seen Jonathan_, he thought. _As long as I can keep this guy distracted, Jonathan will be safe._

The man in the SWAT uniform swiftly shouldered his weapon and swept down upon Al, removing handcuffs from a pouch on his vest. Al winced as the man put his knee in the middle of his back to hold him down as he handcuffed him. Then, he removed Al's pistol from its holster and tossed it out of reach.

Al looked in Jonathan's direction to see that Jonathan was mouthing words to him. "I'll shoot him and you can get away," he suggested.

"No. Stay put," Al mouthed back.

As the man continued to hold Al down with one knee in his back and a hand over the handcuffs on Al's wrists, he grabbed his microphone. "Unit seventeen to unit thirty, I have our shooter in custody. All other units can return to the staging point."

"Shooter?" Sam and Al asked in unison.

"Why are you acting like you don't know what I'm talking about?" the man asked as he stood and then lifted Al to his feet. "We got a call from a motorist whose car broke down. He walked through the woods to find a house with a phone, and he saw a man in the woods carrying an assault rifle. You were carrying an assault rifle, and you're in the woods. Therefore, it's a foregone conclusion that you're our man."

Al glanced toward Jonathan to make sure he was staying down, and then glared at the man. "Did it ever occur to you that there could be more than one?"

The smirk quickly disappeared from the man's face. "What do you mean, 'more than one?' You know of others?"

"Careful, Al," Sam warned.

"Check the weapons," Al said, nodding in the direction of the weapons on the ground. "I believe you'll find that they are not what you're looking for."

The man looked suspiciously at Al, then at the weapons, then back at Al. "What do you mean by that?"

"Just check 'em. I'm not going anywhere," he smirked sarcastically.

Suddenly, the handlink started squealing and flashing. Sam read what was scrolling across the screen. "Ziggy found an account of the shooting, in a small weekly newspaper. A witness said that it was a deputy on the Grady County Sheriff's Department SWAT Team that shot Jonathan. That report was never confirmed or denied by the Sheriff's Department, though."

The man removed his pistol from its holster while keeping his eyes on Al. "You try something, I'll shoot. Don't think I won't."

"Oh, I don't doubt you will," Al responded, growing more nervous.

"Al, this is getting dangerous," Sam said, his voice showing an edge of fear that he was struggling to conceal.

The deputy side-stepped to where the guns lay in the dirt, not breaking his gaze from Al's eyes until he looked down to pick up the rifle. Suddenly, Jonathan sprang from the underbrush, his rifle aimed at the deputy. The deputy spun around, aimed his gun at Jonathan, and pulled the trigger.

"No!" Al yelled as he jumped forward, knocking Jonathan down, just as the shot was fired. He landed hard on his side in the packed dirt of the trail, and immediately rolled over to check Jonathan.

"Charlie, you're bleeding!" Jonathan exclaimed. He got up and crawled over to Al.

The deputy held the two at gunpoint and barked, "Don't move, or I'll shoot again!" He reached down, picked up Jonathan's gun, and removed the magazine. A small handful of BBs spilled onto the ground. "BBs? You were going to shoot me with BBs? Damn, that was stupid, kid!"

"Al, are you hit?" Sam called, as he re-centered himself on his friend's prostrate form and bent down to get a closer look. Dr. Beckett instinctively moved to examine the casualty, before remembering his holographic status. He sighed in helpless frustration.

"Yeah," Al answered, his voice strained from the pain of the shot and of the fall. He looked down at his right arm and saw the sleeve of his jacket was soaked with blood. The American flag patch had been torn in half by the bullet. He looked back at Sam and continued, "It just cut through the surface, though. I'll be fine."

"Who are you talking to, Charlie?" Jonathan asked.

Al sat up and looked at Jonathan. "Uh, nothing. Never mind. I'm okay," he answered, trying to reassure the kid.

"Kid, you're damn lucky your friend here jumped in front of that bullet. It was meant for your chest," the deputy said. "Never point a gun at any law enforcement, whether it's a BB gun or not. That's a good way to die."

"Well, I didn't know you were law enforcement. We're playing an Airsoft game, and I thought you were a player on the third team, the guerrillas team that we didn't know about. It's getting dark and I couldn't tell." He took the bandana out of Al's pocket and held it over Al's arm. "Do you think we can take the handcuffs off him now?"

"Not until I get some _backup here_!" The deputy yelled the last two words for emphasis.

His request was answered as they heard footsteps approaching from both directions on the trail. Several SWAT Team members arrived from the top of the hill, as several Airsoft players arrived from the bottom of the hill.

"Stand down, team," the deputy ordered to the SWAT Team members. "They're playing Airsoft, with BBs."

"Guys, shoulder your rifles or put them down," Al told the Airsoft players. "I don't want anyone else getting shot."

"Good idea, Al," Sam said, immensely relieved that his friend was coherent and didn't seem to be in shock.

Mike stepped out of the crowd and approached the deputy. "I'm in charge here. I just heard gunfire up on this trail. You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Yeah," the deputy answered. "We got a call about a man carrying an assault rifle in the woods. We responded and I found this guy here." He pointed at Al. "I took him into custody, and this kid," he pointed at Jonathan, "jumped out of the trees and tried to shoot me with his gun! I didn't know it was an Airsoft gun, so I shot at him to protect myself, as I am trained to do. This guy," he pointed at Al, "then jumped in front of the kid and took the bullet for himself. And now you know as much as I do."

"It looks like we need to get Charlie some medical attention," said Mike. "Do you think you could take the cuffs off him?"

The deputy turned to one of the men in SWAT uniforms. "Captain, it's your call."

"Yeah, go ahead," the Captain answered.

The deputy bent down and removed the handcuffs from Al's wrists. "I still have to file a report, though."

"Well, can it wait until he gets medical help?" Mike asked, perturbed. "We'll be at the base camp if you want to follow someone down there." He then turned to Al. "Can you make it back to base?"

"Yeah, I think so," Al answered, holding the blood-soaked bandana over his arm. He then asked Sam, "Is Jonathan going to be okay?"

"Looks like it, thanks to you," Mike answered.

"Ziggy says he's going to be fine," Sam responded. "He continues to play Airsoft, and creates a pamphlet he distributes to members of the Airsoft community, describing the correct way to respond to a law enforcement officer on the field. He also creates a pamphlet for the law enforcement community, raising awareness of Airsoft. And in two years, he graduates from the Grady County Sheriff's Department Academy and becomes a deputy sheriff."

Al smiled as he felt his skin tingle with the impending Leap. He reached out to Jonathan and shook his hand firmly, as he Leaped onward to an unknown time and place.


End file.
